Treacherous Witch

5. The Locked Door

"Introduce yourself to the ladies of the court after breakfast. You'll learn a great deal."

The ladies of the court? She hadn't expected this at all. "I thought I..."

He looked at her. "What did you think?"

"I'm here to perform a spell."

"Only a few of my most trusted servants know the true reason you're here. You will say nothing about it, do you understand?"

Interesting. Perhaps even he didn't dare reveal that he was employing the services of a sorcerer.

But all she said was, "I understand."

For a few seconds there was nothing but the sound of their knives and forks clattering, while Valerie pondered whether the secret of her abilities might give her any leverage. If she threatened to reveal it... But who would she tell? Most likely she'd get herself killed, which meant she had more to lose than he did.

And she didn't only have herself to think about. Any outright disobedience could hurt Markus too.

She looked up. Avon had finished his tea. He set aside his napkin and leaned back in his chair, regarding her with undisguised appreciation.

"My friend," she said carefully, "does he know I'm alive? Can you tell me where he is, my lord?"

"The ladies will be able to teach you the manners of court," said Avon. "For example, that you do not speak to a lord unless spoken to."

"What if I have something important to say?"

"Lord Gideon used a version of the test you performed last night to evaluate near fifty would-be sorcerers who have come to our gates in the past few days." Avon stood up, the manservant pulling back his chair. "We whittled them down to one. I'd like you to meet."

*

Everything was happening so quickly. The moment she finished breakfast, she found herself being escorted through the palace, Lord Avon at her side. This was nothing like sneaking around in her unnoticeable garb. Despite being accompanied by servants, she felt seen by everyone. Heads turned. Whispers followed. There wasn't a single guard, servant, lord or lady they passed who didn't take notice.

It was because of Lord Avon, she told herself. He was the Chancellor; of course, everyone's eyes were on him. He must be used to such attention, and he walked at a brisk enough pace that nobody tried approaching him.

Still. She didn't like it. She felt better when they entered the temple, which was empty, the scent of incense once again soothing her nerves.

Then she realised that they were heading towards the steps, the ones she had wondered about before when eavesdropping on Avon and Gideon. She put one foot on the first step and nearly choked.

This was power. Forget the sword, forget the crown jewels. She was approaching a magical presence the like of which she had never encountered before. She didn't know whether to reach out in rapture or cower away from its presence. What is it? What's down there? She breathed it in—the hair on the back of her neck and her arms prickled with every step—a golden haze, the scent of roses, as they descended into the dark.

Her slippers touched the stone floor. It was only a short flight after all, perhaps twelve steps, and the chamber below was lit by two standing braziers. In front of her was a stone door. It was circular, a great heavy block of rock set into the wall. A seashell pattern was carved into the stone surface. But dancing on the rock—or in the rock—was a light show of magic: the azure blue of the sea, the green of a palm tree, the soft yellow of sand and stone, the burnished orange of a kestrel's wing, the gold of a crown, and every now and then a shimmer of red, pink or purple like roses blooming in the blazing summer heat.